


Over and Over.

by WhatTheWentz



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Dead Mary Winchester, Depression, F/M, John-centric, Suicidal Thoughts, Winchester Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-02 23:45:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5268395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatTheWentz/pseuds/WhatTheWentz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John cannot deal with Mary's death properly; so he does the only thing he can do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over and Over.

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this because I see a lot of hatred directed towards John, so I hope this ficlet can try and show a glimpse into his mental state post Mary's death. I think that most of the hatred is actually unfair, considering the guy had a pretty difficult job to do, and although he didn't handle it very well, he, at least, tried.

She was gone.

 

The thought burned in the man’s mind as he grumbled under his whiskey-tinged breath, shaking hand gripping a .45.  Part of him wanted to take the gun and empty the barrel in his brain, but he knew he couldn’t.

 

He had a job.  It didn’t matter how awful he was doing, he still had to try.  His boys couldn’t grow up completely without a father, like he did.  That’d just be unfair.

 

Part of him knew the truth, that he was failing his job.  Every night he got the chance to sleep, he saw his beloved’s cold dead eyes staring down at him from the ceiling, a slash across her stomach, blood weeping out as her frozen lips gasped out the four words.

 

‘It’s your fault, John.’

 

He tried to drown the thoughts away with whiskey, but found himself being more and more alienated from his children, the boys, especially his eldest, Dean, becoming his soldiers.  He hated it, hated the way he had raised them, but the sickening thrill of shooting a werewolf with silver or burning the flesh of a wendigo was somehow turning him into someone completely different.

 

John had once been a lively man with ambitions but now, he had one sole reason for existing.  He would end the monster that killed his wife, whatever it took.

 

Tears blurred his eyes, but he held them back.  The time for tears was over, it was done.  Two years had passed, and it was time to fucking get angry.  A growl escaped him, practically inhuman, and he shot the target, hitting the centre, the sound, even silenced, making him flinch.

 

He was still getting used to this -- the feel of a gun in his hand was still unfamiliar, even after his marine days and serving in the war.  It just felt wrong.

 

Although, that was part of the thrill, the way hunting made his blood boil and his heart beat, something that hardly ever happened anymore.  Part of him had died with Mary.

 

“Daddy?” little, precious, six year old Dean called, rubbing his eyes.

 

John turned to the boy, seeing him toddle over, looking confused.  Bile rose in his throat and he felt sick, but he knew that he didn’t have a choice.

 

He bent his knees and got to Dean’s level, forcing a smile, “Hey, buddy.”

 

“What’s going on?” adorable green eyes that melted John’s heart gazed upward, and he fought the urge to just cuddle him and let everything go.

 

He swallowed, then asked, “Is Sammy asleep?”

 

“Yeah…” Dean looked down at his gun, “Daddy, why do you have that?”

 

John answered, “Because I have to teach you some things.  And it’s not going to be easy, but you have to promise to not tell Sammy, okay?”

 

“Okay, dad.” the boy looked confused and slightly scared, and John’s thoughts roared at him.

 

This is wrong, he’s just a kid, he can’t learn this.

 

His lips betrayed him, and he let the words come out, “Monsters are real, Dean, one killed your mommy.  And daddy is going to teach you how to stop them.”

 

“But you said that monsters weren’t real…” Dean’s eyes widened like disks in terror, and the boy shivered.

 

John gripped his shoulders, not tight enough to hurt but enough to silence him, “I thought that for the longest time, but I was wrong.  You and I, though, we’re going to learn how to fight them.” he passed the pistol to his son, “Starting with this, okay?”

 

“But, this is a gun… it’s bad!” Dean whimpered.

 

John physically ached to hold his baby boy, but knew he couldn’t.  The time for being a father was over.

 

“Damn it, kid, do as I say!” he rose his voice sharply, internally wincing.

 

Dean froze, “Y-Yes, sir.” and his grip on the gun tightened.

 

John straightened, then exhaled, turning to the target, everything telling him that Mary would hate him for this, but he couldn’t fight it anymore.  The anger was killing him.

 

Dean had to learn.

 

This rage had infected him, but he couldn’t live without it as there would only be sorrow, and John couldn’t take that.  His emotions had to leave the building.

 

 


End file.
